


Workaholic

by 19thsentry



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-16
Updated: 2016-06-16
Packaged: 2018-07-15 12:08:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7221751
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/19thsentry/pseuds/19thsentry
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How do vampires take time to de-stress? They go dancing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Workaholic

He woke up to Dru whimpering and clawing in her sleep, reaching for him. It wasn’t hard to figure out what the nightmare was about—even he had nightmares of Angelus, although they rarely focused on him being human. Bloody bastard left them a hundred years ago and he was still there, on the edges of their life, a constant shadow. Spike could never rid them of him. Spike lifted Dru’s head onto his chest and smoothed her hair with one broad hand, the other clasping her to him, whispering nonsense words, telling her how strong she would soon be, how terrifying, how unstoppable. Not even Angelus would reach his Dark Princess when she returned to power, he murmured to her. Still, before she calmed his chest was marked with deep scratches and welts.

_

 

Her foot connected with his chest and he slammed through a crypt door, landing on his back on the cement. He laughed—let it hurt. He was up. She stood in the doorway, outlined by the light of the moon, gold hair shinning. Oh, she was a warrior. Small, fragile looking, but when she stood like that, any git with eyes could see the blinding power she held in that tight little body. He smiled wide and charged.

_

 

Spike untangled himself from his lover’s pale limbs and brushed the hair from her face. His senses told him that it was mid-day, and that he should get back in bed and sleep until the rays fell away to the other side of the Earth, but regardless he dressed and made his way upstairs. The only sounds coming from inside the factory were the creaks and groans of the metal and his footfalls on the stairs. Vampires didn’t snore, and most didn’t breathe at all at night. They were the undead. Anything else would be bloody unnatural. He stormed into the den most of his minions slept in, making enough noise to wake up the whole city. He loved watching them scramble, at least. Only joy he was going to get. He didn’t have to give to many orders; the routine had become just that—a routine. Get the books, set them out, start searching. Use the tunnels, question the demon world, do what you bloody need to do as long as you’re doing it now, I don’t give a bloody damn if it’s still the daytime.

_

 

She came with a weapon this time. Didn’t know what he was thinking, that first time they fought. He should’ve insisted on weapons, because she was glorious. She didn’t hold herself like the first slayer he fought with a sword. She was wild, unpredictable. Her steps were intuitive in nature, not natural from years of practice. The blade sung through the air and they danced through the cemetery. He lept on grave markers, bounced on the sides of crypts, ducked under tree branches, swam around her as she tried to fend him off. Oh, it was a dance alright, and they moved to the beat of her heart and the swing of each other’s limbs. Blood sang.

_

 

Everyone needed something. Dru wanted to dance, or wanted a puppy, or wanted to visit her blasted “Daddy”, or have a girl in a new dress to play with. Minions wanted to go out, Dalton wanted some book or other, his own sodding stomach was itching for something to eat. It made him remember all too well the demands made of him in his human life. All that responsibility and worry. He didn’t care for it then, either, but just like then, he had a reason for it all. Had to get his Princess to full health, didn’t he? He wasn’t that pathetic little wanker, unable to do anything as the one he loved died—he was a vampire. He’d lived for over a hundred years, he’d learned some things, and he sure as hell wasn’t about to lose the one thing in his life he bothered to take care of. So he played the role. Made sure his people got what they need, made sure he got what Dru needed (a pleasantly plump little girly, plenty of blood for his woman), made sure to feed so he could get back to work. The world weighed on him. He felt less and less like a vampire and more and more like a Victorian. Made him sick.

 

So, in the middle of the night, he went out, and he searched for her. The one girl in all the world. She made him _feel_. He listened to her quip, laughed as she complained about her life to the unhearing ears of dead things, watched as she spun and punched and staked. And tonight, he put his hands in his pockets and walked into the middle of their battlefield—their coliseum. A smile tugged at his lips. After all, there was no better way to unwind then a night out dancing.


End file.
